The French Outlaw and The Ruthless King
by DragonsAreAwesome
Summary: England, January 1558. While King Arthur Kirkland is scared that his brother Alfred is plotting to take his throne, more trouble is heading his way when a French outlaw worms his way into Arthur's life. FrUk mainly but there are other implied pairings. Rated M for suspected gore and language in future chapters. Enjoy!
1. Prologue

"Stop! Thief!"

_Merde._

Francis clutched the loaf of bread and sprinted in the opposite direction to the outraged shopkeeper, avoiding the grabbing hands of the townsfolk. He flinched as one hand made contact with the tender flesh of his upper arm that had been branded earlier with a hot iron. Branded V for Vagrant. He was a vagrant, a beggar, lower than scum in the eyes of these people. Now he'd resorted to thievery to survive, as if that was somewhat better.

He saw a group of guards who must've been patrolling the marketplace up ahead blocking his path, and so he quickly charged around the next corner, shoving unsuspecting shoppers out of the way. He snapped his head around to see if there was anyone following - no one he could see, but it never hurts to be cautious. Who knew what would happen if he was caught committing crimes again? Ever since he'd arrived in England by hiding in a French merchant boat he'd realized many things. 1. They didn't take crime lightly here, 2. They had rather... colourful punishments, and 3. They weren't too keen on the French.

It was a good thing that he'd been perfecting his English for years so he could easily hide his accent, because his life for the past few weeks would've been that little bit harder if people had known he was French. He might've even been given harsher punishments. He'd heard rumours of punishments for thievery like being publicly whipped, being branded with a T for Thief with hot iron on your FACE (the thought of having his face permanently scarred brought terror to Francis) or having your hands cut off.

He suddenly came up to a dead-end. Nothing but a door.

As his hand clutched the rusted metal he prayed it would open, prayed there would be no deadbolt blocking the door. He pulled with all his might willing it to swing open, but it seemed that the door had other plans.

"No," he breathed "Oh, no no no." He slowly backed away, unsure what to do. People were still looking for him out in the marketplace, and they would find him eventually if stayed where he was. He glared at the door as if it were his worst enemy, and kicked it with all of his force. Again, and again, and again he kicked it, but it was a strong door; made of the strongest wood the most precious metal.

He cried out in frustration and collapsed against the wall, dropping his loaf of bread and burying his head in his hands. He didn't seem to notice the metallic sound of deadbolts unlocking but his head snapped up as a heavy thud was heard.

The door had fallen forward from its hinges, almost an inch away from him, probably weakened from the force of his kicks. In the doorway stood an angry albino man, and a worried looking brunette woman.

The albino crossed his arms and walked towards Francis, treading over the door. He stood there looking down at Francis, glaring.

"You could've knocked!" he yelled.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**This is my first story, so take it easy on me! **

**If there are any mistakes please feel free to tell me, it would honestly be a big help**

**I intend for the first chapter to be up before 10/13/13 - (Is that right? I'm British, and we write it Day/Month/Year, so 13/10/13).**

**This story's set in January 1558, and I'm loosely basing "King Kirkland" on someone in History, if that's okay? It'll be like a little guessing game where I don't tell anyone, because it'll ruin the fun. ;)**


	2. Chapter 1

"I can't just execute or jail my own brother just for being... there," Arthur Kirkland, King of England, said, "besides, he has a boatload of followers that would rebel, should anything happen to him."

"Just have his followers killed along with him," Gilbert, the royal jester, replied simply, "and you do have a good excuse to kill him; he's planning to kill you and take your crown. That's probably got to count for something."

Gilbert was one of Arthur's most trusted friends, though he would never admit it as he claimed he could dispose of Gilbert as quickly as he could a handkerchief. They first met in his little brother Peter's reign of England. Their father had claimed that Peter was the strongest of all three siblings and gave orders that he was the only one fit to rule the country after he died. That was proven wrong when Peter died of illness no more than 6 years into his reign.

The illness that he had suffered from kept him bed-ridden, and so one day he demanded something to keep him entertained. The so-called best jester in all of Teutonic Prussia was sent over especially for the King of England and... to put it lightly, he was bad. So bad. But the sheer idiocy of this man made Arthur double over in laughter. His humour was so different it was stupid - but that's what made Arthur laugh. That was why he stepped in to defend the fool when he was set to be executed under Peter's commands. Apparently Peter didn't find him funny at all because some of the things that came out of the idiot's mouth may or may not have been offensive.

Arthur agreed to pay a fine for Gilbert's release and kept him as his own jester, but even when Arthur was announced as the new King, Gilbert treated him no differently. He always treated him like a friend, not royalty, or his boss as he should, and Arthur would never be able to thank him enough for that, because he simply didn't know how to show it.

"I don't know if he's plotting anything against me for sure; it's just that I'm suspicious. The other problem we have is that Alfred's followers are everywhere, so we'd have to stalk all of them out to kill them. - That could take years!" Arthur stressed.

He combed his hand through his messy blonde locks irritatedly, cursing.

"Woah, keep the level of your voice down, it's not like we're debating who's the best sword-fighter around here, if people hear what we're talking about it's going to spread like wildfire - that would not be awesome!" Gilbert whispered urgently.

"Right, okay. I'll try to be more careful." Arthur reassured him before placing his hand behind him to lean against the large dining hall table and accidentally knocked a plate from it's place. He moved it back into its place, elbowing another plate off the edge of table while doing so.

Gilbert flinched slightly as the he heard the smash of the plate as it made contact with the smooth stone floor. "Careful?" Gilbert giggled.

Arthur cussed under his breath, his cheeks turning red, as he bent down to pick up the shards of fine china.

The door to the dining hall screeched open loudly as Elizaveta, the Hungarian-Bohemian maid scurried in. She rushed over to the mess and ushered Arthur out of the way. "Could you please be more careful, my liege?" Elizaveta begged.

Arthur saw Gilbert's shoulders shaking as he tried to hold onto his laughter in the corner of his eye and elbowed him harshly in the gut.

"Actually," Arthur started, turning to smirk at Gilbert, "it was his fault."

Elizaveta blinked, "Oh." She straightened up and walked over to where Gilbert was standing. She crossed her arms and glared at him for a few seconds before she thwacked him over the head. "I've told you one too many times to stay away from anything easily breakable." she lectured him sternly, "You never listen, do you? Maybe I should make you clean it up or pay for it, hm?"

She ended the question with one last smack over his head, picked up the bigger pieces of broken plate shards, and hurried off to retrieve a broom.

"What was all that about, then?" Arthur chuckled as he heard the thud of the doors shutting.

A shocked looking Gilbert recovered quickly, "She's always so feisty around me, and only around me. Maybe she lets out all of her pent up anger on me, I don't know, but believe me on this, what I do know is that... she wants me."

Arthur stared at him in disbelief for a few seconds, thinking he was dead serious - he couldn't be that self-confident, right? - before they both burst into laughter.

"You idiot, you know you'll never get someone as good-looking as her." Arthur teased.

Gilbert pretended to look offended at that statement, holding a hand to his heart, "Oh Arthur, thou ist so cruel to me... and hey, don't call me an idiot when I had a better education than you."

"I think you'll find that you are wrong, I had a wealthy man's education, and I can call you whatever I want, thank you very much."

"But 'Whatever I Want, Thank You Very Much' isn't my name, my liege. This mistake could be due to your lack of a good education!" Gilbert giggled.

Arthur rolled his eyes and shoved his friend.

"I'm not surprised that our King calls you a fool and an idiot," Elizaveta interrupted from the doorway smirking, "you laugh at your own jokes, even though they aren't funny."

She entered the room and started sweeping the smaller plate shards, making sharp scraping sounds against the smooth stone floor.

"Aw Arthur, back me up, you know I'm funny, right?" Gilbert asked, elbowing Arthur's side repeatedly.

Arthur playfully shoved Gilbert away, smirking. "Hah, you wish."

"Princess Juana and her escorts have arrived, your highness."

They all raised their heads to the new presence in the room to find it was the Royal Adviser, Matthew.

"I would suggest that you get ready, your highness." Matthew nodded at Arthur's clothes; ragged trousers that Arthur refused to take off when not on official business because they were 'comfortable', a wrinkled white blouse that clung awkwardly to his built frame and a large waistcoat that hung on his shoulders. No shoes, apparently, he claimed his shoes were too restricting.

"You're right, I shall get changed immediately," he beckoned Gilbert to come with him.

Matthew's eyes widened and he weakly reached out a hand to stop them, "I would like to advise you that bringing your uh- Jester? Jester with you would be quite... he can be rather-"

"Flashy?" Arthur suggested.

"Stupid?" Elizaveta added.

"Spontaneous." Matthew confirmed.

"I can't say that statement isn't true." Arthur mumbled, stepping back to survey Gilbert.

Without getting started on his hair and eyes (which would no doubt be an attention-grabber in the feast) Gilbert was in-fact very spontaneous. He wore an odd, colourful hat lazily on the side of his head, bells jingling lightly every time he moved, a bright red and yellow asymmetrically striped top, with matching trousers and shoes (that also sported bells).

"What's that saying about not judging a book by it's cover?" Gilbert frowned, "Because you'd be surprised how good some 'flashy' books are."

"Gilbert, you can't read." Arthur pointed out.

"Oh, this is all about my abilities now? I thought we were talking about how awesomely attractive I am and how no one at the feast will be able to keep their eyes off the awesome me." Gilbert batted his eyelashes.

"Be quiet fool," Arthur turned to Matthew, "We could just give him some spare clothes, I know we have spares around somewhere."

Matthew hesitated for a moment, then nervously said, "I don't want to come off as rude or offensive but I wasn't talking about his looks or clothing being spontaneous."

"Aw, am I too much for 'ya sweet cheeks?" Gilbert teased as he pinched a blushing Matthew's cheek.

"If he can't go then who will provide the entertainment?" Arthur interrupted.

Gilbert ground his teeth together as he sensed the dreaded name coming.

"Why, Roderich, of course." Matthew replied.

Roderich was the so-called 'best' lute and violin player, and the best, in Gilbert's opinion, at being an asshole. He never treated Gilbert with respect, he called him a fool, a feat that only Arthur (and occasionally Elizaveta) was allowed to accomplish. He thought he was so grand because he was born in Austria-Burgundy, a place he claimed was 'the land of music', but Gilbert kindly told him time and time again that he could shove that up his behind.

"Fair enough, though I should probably hurry up. It's not good to keep guests waiting, especially not a Princess you're intending to marry." Arthur chuckled nervously, hurrying out of the room.

"Wait!" Gilbert called after the departing King, "What am I supposed to do now!?"

Arthur raised his hand in dismissal without looking back and carried on walking.

"Maybe you should help Elizaveta for the rest of the day, it would help quite a lot." Matthew suggested.

Elizaveta made a small sound of disapproval which made Gilbert grin like a maniac.

"Of course!" Gilbert yelled, "You do need my help after all, you're always complaining about the messes you have to clean up, aren't you?" _  
_

He slung his arm roughly but not menacingly around her shoulders, knowing that she wouldn't beat him up in front of the Royal Adviser. He could get away with provoking her and he was going to enjoy it for now. For now.

"I'm glad I can count on you guys to get along." Matthew beamed obliviously, shoes clacking against the stone floor as he made his way out of the dining hall.

"So, _friend_," Elizaveta punctuated the word with a shove, "Why don't you help me go shopping for food and supplies? You can carry everything, and I won't hold back on buying heavy things."

"Hey, I thought I was just helping out with the cleaning." Gilbert patted Elizaveta cheerily on the back, "Sorry honey, but you'll have to shop without the awesome me, no matter how much it kills you inside."

"Oh, did I hear incorrectly? Because he said, and I quote, 'you should help Elizaveta for the rest of the day'. I heard nothing about cleaning."

Gilbert frowned whilst Elizaveta smirked proudly.

"C'mon big guy, we've got work to do."

* * *

"Is this how much you usually buy!?" Gilbert yelled while struggling with the load he was carrying.

"Nope," Elizaveta beamed as she carried her own load in a woven twig basket, "We need to stock up on ale this week, Arthur's always grouchy without his ale. I may have also bought some, uh, 'supplies' that would make my life a little easier."

"Well I didn't think the dress was for anyone else." Gilbert muttered.

Only after a while of walking did Gilbert realize that they weren't walking back to the castle.

"If this is some sort of short-cut back to the castle, I would like to add that we _may_ be going in the wrong direction." Gilbert said.

"Yeah, I just need to drop off my things at my home before we go back." Elizaveta replied.

"Well, we should probably hurry up. It's getting dark and it seems that you live in the unawesome, shady part of town."

"You seem surprised that I'm poor, I'm a maid for god's sake."

He followed Elizaveta's lead through tough-looking crowds and homeless men and women begging for spare change until they finally made their way down an alley that ended with a sturdy wooden door.

Elizaveta stood in front of the door and made over-the-top gestures at it whilst whispering "Ta-da!" dramatically.

"What?" Gilbert asked. It was a door. What was so special?

"I made this myself! After 3 break-ins I finally thought of making my own door!"

"Uh, okay."

Elizaveta looked disappointed. "Of course you wouldn't understand."

"Understand what!?" Gilbert yelled in confusion as she slid a loose twig from her basket up the crack in the side of her door, unlocking the specially made deadbolt.

"I expected a praise because it looks cool but no, of course not." Elizaveta murmured as she swung the door open and stepped inside.

_What did I do wrong?_ Gilbert thought.

Elizaveta shut the door after Gilbert stepped in cautiously, the deadbolt sliding into place automatically. They both set down their things and Gilbert breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Can I have a break before I have to lug all of that crap back a mile?" Gilbert asked collapsing on the rotting wood floor.

"Sure." Elizaveta said, tossing him an apple.

Gilbert caught it with minimum effort, but not without sending an offensive remark, "I'm pretty sure this is one of the only things that isn't rotting in this room."

Elizaveta couldn't help but agree with him. The room consisted of a dirty mattress on the floor and a few wooden stools with legs missing. The ceiling was molding at the corners and the wooden floor felt wet and soft.

"You said that you had break-ins, what's in here worth taking?" Gilbert asked bluntly.

"Clearly not what they left." Elizaveta answered, frowning.

"Well, you could just buy more furniture with the money you earn from working." Gilbert suggested.

"I don't really see the point. I get here late in the night and leave early in the morning, I don't see why I can't spend it on other things-"

A loud thump against the door interrupted Elizaveta. Then another thump followed. And another. And another.

Gilbert pushed Elizaveta behind him, "I got this."

The person on the other side had stopped trying to get in, so Gilbert bent down to quickly snatch the twig from the floor and (remembering what Elizaveta had done no more than five minutes ago) swiped it up the side of the door.

Elizaveta's heart sunk as her precious door (that she'd spent _months_ making) broke off of it's hinges, and collapsed onto the floor with a loud thud.

Gilbert crossed his arms and trod over the door. He stopped in front of the intruder, glaring down at him.

"You could've knocked!"

* * *

**Author's Note**

**I'm going to try and update every Sunday, sorry if this chapter isn't that good, or if the spelling's off.**

**I tried ending it in the same way that the prologue ended, but in a different point of view.**

**This chapter was mostly about introducing the characters and their relationships.**

**So, I'd appreciate it if you'd try and stick around for the next installment of 'The French Outlaw and The Ruthless King'.**

**Take care ;)**


	3. Chapter 2

Arthur played nervously with his food as the Spaniard glared at him.

Antonio, Princess Juana's older brother had been staring holes through Arthur for nearly the whole feast; he had only ever looked away to find the source of the violin music that had filled the room so suddenly; it seemed that the bard was playing.

"Your Majesty," Antonio finally spoke up for almost the first time during the entire event. Arthur raised his head, blinking a few times before focusing on the Spaniard. He wouldn't have heard him had he not been sitting to his left, the warm chatter filling the room would have blocked out his voice.

"Yes?" Arthur replied nervously, not looking him directly in the eye.

"Hey, look at me while I'm talking to you. This is important."

He willed his head to tilt up a few inches to meet the Spaniard's eyes. His gaze was actually rather warm, yet it somehow managed be harsh at the same time. He raised his chin slightly, "You must take good care of my sister."

Arthur hesitated under the man's unfaltering stare, but then stated firmly, "Don't worry, I will."

The Spaniard visibly relaxed breathing out a loud "phew", the intimidating 'protective big brother face' being replaced quickly with a goofy grin.

"Thank goodness you said that, it's really hard to act angry for so long. I always thought you'd be good for her but I had to be sure. Those were some strong words there, man. My heart nearly stopped then and there - how many words was that? Only three? - Four? Well it doesn't really matter, you're doing good. Ah, we can be friends, right? I can be a great friend, as long as you're nice to my sister-"

Arthur somehow managed to block out the voice next to him that seemed to be galloping a mile a minute while he focused on his own thoughts. The main thought at that moment being; _what was that!?_

It seemed pretty odd for someone as intimidating as the Spaniard to suddenly change into what looked like the most carefree person ever to have lived. The harshness from before had disappeared and his bright green eyes glittered happily as he chattered on about - tomatoes now, it seemed.

As his gaze brushed over the lines of people bundled up against the long table, his eyes finally rested on Juana. The beautiful Princess at the other end of the large table; the one he was to marry. It wasn't too long before their eyes met. Her crimson lips tilted slightly upward as she steadily held his gaze, her emerald eyes glimmering in the light of the candle-lit chandeliers. Her shimmering brown locks cascaded down her neck, pooling at her shoulders; to put it lightly, she was gorgeous.

Arthur suddenly realized that while she'd been smiling flirtatiously at him he'd just been sitting there, gawking at her. He raised his hand and awkwardly waved, attempting to smile. He had no clue how it looked, but it made Juana giggle and shake her head before lowering her gaze back down to focus on her food.

Matthew stood up from the center of the table where he had been conversing happily among others. He walked anxiously towards the window, where only moonlight shone in. His eyes widened at the lack of light, realizing how late it must've been.

"Ah, it seems to have gotten -uh, very dark. If you would kindly just... listen up and -uh, damn." Matthew tried making his voice heard over the happy buzz of the hall, but he slowly gave up, his voice getting quieter and quieter.

Antonio stood up, "Don't worry, I got this." he said before patting Matthew roughly on the back.

Matthew flinched at the amount of force the Spaniard put into giving him such a friendly gesture.

"People!"

Everyone huddled around the large wooden table raised their head simultaneously to the surprisingly loud voice. Antonio nodded to Matthew, giving him the 'go-ahead' for what he needed to say.

Matthew cleared his throat, "Well, it's just that it's started to get rather dark, and I apologize for not realizing earlier. You shall all be escorted back to the inn that you are staying at by our guards that we hand-picked for this occasion. Just a quick reminder that the wedding has been set for the 25th of July; six months should be more than enough time for the preparations to be complete. Thank you all for your co-operation, and I wish for the marriage to go smoothly."

Looks of confusion swept the room, causing Matthew to show one of his own. People were cupping their ears, mumbling to one another, _'Did you hear a word of what he just said? Me neither.'_

Antonio patted his back yet again, chuckling. "I don't think they heard you, mi amigo."

Matthew's shoulders slumped and he sighed lightly; of course they didn't hear him.

"If it's not too much trouble -uh... could you-?" Matthew asked hesitantly.

"Ah, sure, no problema." He clicked his fingers to join the attempt to regain the hall's attention, "Hey!"

Heads turned yet again to his voice. "Okay, right, he said that it's getting dark, sorry for not noticing sooner. Guards will take you back to the inn you're staying at... uh." He looked questioningly down at Matthew as he frantically whispered, _wedding date, wedding date_, "Oh yeah, he wanted to say that you should remember the wedding is on the... 5th?- Ah, 25th of July. He also said thank you for being here and he wished the marriage well."

For the next ten minutes, the hall was in shambles with everyone trying to get out all at once (you'd think they'd be more organized!) and before long the only ones left in the hall were Arthur and Matthew.

"Your highness, you should get some rest." Matthew placed his hand lightly on the exhausted-looking Monarch's shoulder.

"Maybe I should." Arthur agreed, seeming to like that idea a lot.

He made his way slowly back to the main throne room, exchanging quick 'goodnight's to the people still awake before stumbling tiredly up the stairs and following the corridor to his right to find his bedroom.

As soon as he threw open the door he unbuttoned his uncomfortably tight waistcoat with the intent of just flopping on the bed and passing out. His plans were sadly interrupted as someone already lay face-down on the bed, drying blood coating his back. Elizaveta and Gilbert; who'd been attempting to wipe said blood from his back with a filthy shirt, stared at him, eyes wide. Guilty.

"What are you-"

"Before you say anything," Elizaveta interrupted, moving towards him slowly and reaching out her hand, "Just... We only wanted to..." She sighed heavily, tangling her other hand into her soft brown hair.

"Oh for Christ's sake! Act now, explain later, okay? We need clean rags and water, go!" Gilbert yelled from the other side of the bed.

Arthur made no indication that he was going to move. Instead he crossed his arms and glared at them in disbelief.

"You know what? I'm going to tell you what this looks like in my point of view," he said, ignoring Gilbert's desperate protests from across the room and the whole panicked situation in general, "So you drag a piece of low life scum into my personal space -better yet, you let him bleed all over my bed. Now you are yelling at me. Ordering me around, with no explanation of why _that_ is here. Now explain. The more of an explanation I get, the more help he gets."

Elizaveta and Gilbert exchanged silent looks of desperation.

"I have half a mind to send him out to be executed," he continued while nonchalantly wiping dust from his shoulder, "But I really don't mind."

Elizaveta took a deep breath, "We need water. I'll explain while we're getting water."

Arthur shrugged, "Okay. Gilbert, you can stay with _that thing_."

_He's not an object_, Elizaveta muttered.

* * *

_Francis focused on the furious-looking albino who was snapping his fingers in front of his face._

_"C'mon, you gonna answer me? No? Idiot can't even speak." _

_Francis blinked, realization setting in. He lunged forward and grasped the man's pale arms in a iron-like grip, "Let me in. Please. Let me in!"_

_"Let go of me, peasant," the man snarled, pulling away from Francis' clutch, "And isn't it a little too late for that? You could just get up and walk in. Take all the things this woman _doesn't have."

_Francis' eyes widened at that statement. Was he being accused of trying to break in? "Please, that was not my intention. Just please, let me in. I'm _begging_ you."_

_"I don't think so, _sir. _You damaged some of her property, whether it was your intention to or not. Pay up." A hand was shoved right in front of Francis' face.__  
_

_"I have no money." Francis was more than familiar with this line. All those times when people had attempted to mug him. To cheer himself up, he always thought; joke's on them because they have nothing to steal... Yeah, that didn't cheer him up too much though, because they always assumed you were lying and decided to use force. Force hurt._

_"Enough money to buy good bread apparently," he nodded towards his stolen item that, to his complete and utter dismay, had gotten acquainted with a greedy rat that was munching away happily with his head buried in the loaf._

_"I wish," Francis sighed._

_"Painfully honest, I see," the man stood up straight, crossing his arms yet again, "Get out of my sight."  
_

_Francis' head snapped up at that, his eyes widening. No. They were his only hope of not being caught. "Please, you have to believe me when I say if I go back out there something really bad may happen to me."_

_"What sort of 'really bad thing' are you talking about?" the brunette stepped out from behind the albino and spoke up the the first time._

_"Elizaveta, I told you I could handle this, now go back inside." the man's gaze softened as it landed on the woman - Elizaveta apparently._

_"No Gilbert," she turned back to Francis, "Now tell me, what will happen to you if you go back out there?"_

_Francis gave a nervous chuckle, "Anything. The punishment could be getting worse by the second. I stole, and I can't just take back what I did. I've only heard small rumours of what has happened to thieves in the past here, none of those were pleasant things to hear."_

_Elizaveta looked back at -Gilbert was it? with a grim look to match his._

_"Gilbert, you and I both know how much we disagree with the punishments this country dishes out."_

_Gilbert hesitated, then nodded, his jaw set tight, "Once. Just this once, peasant. You won't get away with doing this any other time."_

* * *

"And so we waited it out for a while, and to be honest, he was good company." Elizaveta continued as she carried the bundle of rags up the stairs while Arthur struggled to not drop anything out of the extremely full bucket of water.

"You haven't actually explained why he's face-down on my bed with his back caked in blood."

"Yeah, I was getting to that part. Man, you're impatient."

* * *

_"We have to get back to the castle, it's almost pitch-black out there. Arthur'll be wondering where we are." Gilbert said after nearly an hour of listening to Elizaveta and _Francis_ gossip - boy it was driving him insane._

_Francis perked up immediately at that, "Castle? Arthur? Your _King_ Arthur!?"_

_"Yeah, I'm his awesome jester, he ordered me specially from Teutonic Prussia." Gilbert bragged._

_"Hah, you wish. King Peter's royal adviser sent for you - I always knew he was a screw-up. You were so bad that Peter sent you _and _the royal adviser to be executed. Arthur only saved you because he found your stupidity hilarious." Elizaveta corrected._

_Gilbert pouted._

_"What do you do then?" Francis asked Elizaveta._

_"Ah, I'm the sorry excuse for a maid he picked up in Hungary-Bohemia. I was being treated by a slave by my family because I was the youngest child. -I had 4 brothers and 5 sisters who all treated me like dirt. While he was in Hungary-Bohemia trying to get some sort of alliance or whatever with the country (that actually didn't work out too good) he found me being... disrespected by my brothers. He kind of broke it up. I think he has a soft spot for people in need because he took me back with him to England. He claimed he only took me with him and made me a maid because 'I was used to cleaning and had more experience' but he just won't admit that he took pity on me." Elizaveta replied._

_"He asked about your job, not your freakin' life story." Gilbert stated._

_Elizaveta's eyebrows furrowed, "Yeah, that kind of... slipped out."_

_"Of course, a whole session of story time 'slipped out'." Gilbert mocked._

_Elizaveta punched him in the shoulder. "We should get going then." _

_Elizaveta hesitated. She didn't want to just leave Francis to go back to the streets again, after all- she might not even see him again._

_"Francis, could you help us carry things back to the castle?" she asked._

_Francis nodded, pulling himself off the floor. It occurred to him that people might still be looking for him, but Elizaveta was already one step ahead of him. She quickly crossed the room to retrieve a rather dirty black cloak that had been carelessly thrown over the tattered mattress on the floor. She draped it over his shoulders and pulled the hood over his head so that it covered his face enough for people not to recognize him, but also enough so that he could see. Francis smiled gratefully at her._

_"Come on guys, carry all you can because this has to be a one-way trip." Elizaveta announced to them._

_They both grumbled slightly as she piled their arms high with food, while she carried nothing. Before they could ask why she didn't have to she smirked, "I have to clear the way, don't I?"_

_She pushed the broken door from the doorway, then pushed it back into its place after everyone had exited. Even though there was nothing really left in her home to steal, she didn't really like the thought of people trespassing into her property._

_Before long, they were half-way back to the castle. Elizaveta was surprised that they made it far without being hassled because the large amount of food they were carrying. But when Gilbert suddenly tripped over with an irritated 'Scheiße!' she knew she'd jinxed it._

_The man who'd tripped Gilbert kept him pinned down with one foot pressing down harshly onto his chest. A few other people appeared from around the corner; one of them rushing over to collect the goods that were littering the ground, and a few others walking up armed with blunt objects; battered clubs, sturdy pieces of wood, anything that could do enough damage._

_"Yer money or yer life." said the one pinning a cursing and struggling Gilbert to the ground._

_"The food you're holding will do well too." added one of the approaching offenders._

_Francis transferred the load of food into Elizaveta's arms before he pushed her behind him. "Let us go and we won't report you to the guards on patrol. They're making their rounds as we speak."_

_One of the three armed muggers grinned with blackened teeth and stepped closer to remove the hood that was covering Francis' head. His grin widened even more when he saw Francis' face. "It's you!" He swung his head back and beckoned his friends over, "The blonde's back for more! But it seems he has friends this time."_

_They all cackled and flung insults his way; some saying that he came back because he liked being beaten up, and some saying how much they couldn't wait to watch him bleed and cry once again._

_"They know you?" Elizaveta whispered._

_"It's a rare thing to live on the streets without being mugged, Elizaveta." Francis stated as if it were so obvious._

_Elizaveta squeaked suddenly and batted away an old wrinkled hand that had found its way to her behind. The old man chuckled as she glared at him, "Why hello there, lovely woman, could I interest you in-"_

_"Leave her a-!" Gilbert hacked and sputtered as the man pinning his down by his chest stomped on his neck. Gilbert clawed at the man's leg again as he re-positioned his foot back on Gilbert's chest. The group of muggers laughed at his attempts to free himself and his tries to wheeze air into his oxygen-deprived lungs. Another walked up and slammed his foot into his stomach, knocking what air he had completely out of him._

_While the attention was momentarily fixed on Gilbert, Francis turned Elizaveta around, and pushed her into a sprint away from the muggers. He prayed she knew where the guards would be._

_A glare was sent his way as one who wasn't paying attention to Gilbert saw that they'd let the girl fall from their dirty clutches. He marched towards Francis, grabbing him by the neck and slamming him against the rough stone wall behind him. His head met the wall with a painful thud, his vision blurred momentarily but snapped into focus soon enough to see the man's fist flying towards his face. He flung his head to the side to avoid his nose being broken, but the fist connected painfully to his jaw, and the impact sent the other side of his face crashing back to the wall. The jagged stones pierced his cheek and left long scratches down his neck. Francis' face twisted in pain as the man's knee slammed into his crotch. He let out a string of french curse words as the knee made contact with his genitals again, this time, harder._

_The attention was on him now, amused cackles and cheers filling the putrid air as if they were playing a game they knew they would win. The man holding him slammed Francis' head repeatedly into the wall, being egged on by his friends. With every slam his vision blurred, then faded, until he drowned in a sea of blackness, the pain numbing slowly as he passed out._

* * *

"I finally found the guards, but they recognized Francis as the one who'd been stealing earlier in the marketplace. They dismissed the muggers and decided that Francis was the one that needed to be punished." Elizaveta continued sourly.

* * *

_Francis awoke with his head pounding and his arms bound. He cautiously raised his head up to see that he was on a platform in the town center, shirtless, with his arms tied __to the... _cross_ in front of him? The ropes extended to where the two planks of wood met to form the cross high above his head. He heard menacing shouts coming from all around him; he was at the center of a rioting crowd! How did that happen?_

_He spotted the beaten-up albino and the teary brunette near the front. Elizaveta sobbed lightly, trying to mouth how sorry she was for letting this happen, but Gilbert just nodded in respect, knowing what was to come._

_"Enough!" A voice boomed from behind him. Everyone fell silent. "Enough," he repeated, "to this thievery." Cheers could be heard emitting from the crowd at these words._

_"They will not learn," yelled the man behind him, "lest we punish them!" The cycle of cheering after he spoke continued. Francis could see more people joining in on the event, most out of curiousity._

_"After he has been punished, only our God will decide whether his sins will be forgiven or not, for he is not ours to judge."_

_Francis craned his neck around and his eyes filled with fear as he saw the man wiping dry blood from a whip. The man's expression didn't change even when his eyes met Francis', but he did say, only loud enough for Francis to hear, "I pray that God will forgive you, this should be enough to teach you not to steal."_

_Francis flinched, and lowered his head back down as he started approaching. He could hear the footsteps coming closer and closer, then nothing. The wait and silence was killing him, but he had to try and brace for impact._

_He heard the whip whoosh through the air and hit his back with an agonizing crack. Francis let out a pained gasp, and the whip came down a second time. A slight delay, then a third time. His back felt itchy and raw already, but now the whip was coming down with almost no wait at all between lashes. His back arched in pain as the same spot was being hit time after time. He didn't want to whimper and sound weak in front of these people. No, he needed to be strong. He bit down on the inside of his cheek to stifle his cries as the whip lashed torturously at his burning skin. The pain was unbearable, his back felt numb, yet pained. He was dripping from head to toe in sweat, and his back wept blood as his skin tore. Francis counted the agonizing lashes throughout the entire event. He wasn't too sure if it was to try and keep his mind on other things, maybe it would give him some sort of pride later knowing he'd taken a certain amount of lashes. It continued for no more than ten minutes, much to the crowd's disappointment. Francis counted 27, 28, 29..._

_It all stopped after thirty. Francis raised his head finally, tears finally being shed. They slid down his face and caressed his cheeks almost in a comforting way. The crowd demanded more, saying it wasn't enough, but the man said that he would keep his word of delivering no more than 30 lashes at a time._

_He untied Francis' arms, but he collapsed without anything to support his shaking legs, and for the second time that night he was swallowed in darkness._

* * *

**Author's Note :**

**I enjoyed writing the fighting (if you could call it that) and torture scenes more than any normal person should - gosh I might be turning into a sadist here. **

**Sorry for the update quite late in the day (I don't know about some of you but it's like 4pm here) I was procrastinating all week on the parts with less action and so I tried writing lots of it yesterday night, buuuuuuuuut I fell asleep. Then I woke up and thought 'time to update!' and it was like half-done. Sorry if there are misspellings or anything, I've tried to look over it as much as possible.**

**I hope you guys enjoyed, don't be afraid to review, and I hope you'll stick around for the next chapter ;)**


	4. Chapter 3

"He's been unconscious for about an hour, I think." Elizaveta said, dragging the water-soaked rag lightly over the injured skin of Francis' back for what was probably the hundredth time.

Elizaveta sighed; those cuts were going to leave long, jagged scars whether Francis wanted them or not. Elizaveta was sick of this. Sick of watching people suffer over the smallest of mistakes. Yes, Francis may have a deserved some sort of punishment but not what he went through. No petty thief deserved that.

Before she could back out she took a deep breath and raised her head to look Arthur in the eyes. As his brow furrowed curiously she stated, "No one should ever be put through that amount of pain. Not over something so little-"

"We've had this conversation a million times Elizaveta," Arthur interrupted, clearly annoyed, "Nothing you have to say will make me change the laws of _my_ country. I thought I made myself clear the last time we discussed this matter."

Elizaveta leaned in closer to him, blocking his view of anything but her. She wasn't going to be ignored again by him, dammit. "Would you rather be feared than loved? Because these unnecessary punishments invoke nothing but fear. Fear of not you, but your actions and how they will affect our people."

Arthur frowned at her for a moment, thinking carefully.

"I would rather be feared," Arthur answered finally, "If that's what it takes to be respected."

Elizaveta gave a humourless chuckle. "And that, is where you are wrong, my liege," Elizaveta replied coldly, "No respect ever comes from fear; maybe hatred, maybe envy, but never respect. Respect will only come if you show everyone what the true meaning of it is. If you raise the next generation of our people in fear, then will they ever learn that some good can come from pushing the boundaries? Will they ever learn what true 'respect' is, or will they only know a shadow of the word's intention?"

Arthur's expression hardened and he opened his mouth to speak, but Elizaveta held out her hand, "I don't want to hear it."

She stood up and left the room without looking back. Uncomfortable silence filled the air until Gilbert awkwardly cleared his throat. Arthur tore his angered gaze from the departing maid to glare at Gilbert.

"I'll admit, the speech wasn't completely necessary, but her intentions were."

Arthur cursed as the blasted jester started up the unwanted conversation _again. _Could they just leave it alone? "You do need to tone the punishments down a little, Artie."

"Leave it be." Arthur swiped his hand through his hair irritatedly, yanking at his tangled locks.

"Arthur," Gilbert warned, "You're going to have to face this sooner or later."

"Don't push it."

"I mean it."

"_Don't push it_."

"Don't deny it."

"_Don't ignore what I'm saying.__"_

_"I'm trying to help!"_

Arthur's eyes narrowed at the fool, "_Help?_ In what way, tell me, are you _helping?_"

Gilbert held his gaze steadily, his anger also increasing. "I'm saving your stubborn ass from rebellion! This is why so many people are siding with Alfred, can't your goddamned fame-blinded eyes _see_? Not only are the Protestants supporting your brother instead of you, there are Catholics, too. _They don't agree with what you're doing._"

"Stop speaking to me as if anything you do or say to me matters_ at all_. _You_ can't change my mind. _Elizaveta _can't change my mind. And you should know better than to say things like that to your_ King."_

"And _you _should know better than to think of yourself as my King. Hang on, you _do _know that I have never thought of you as my King. You've always been my _friend_. And you know what? You're not acting like a good one of either." Gilbert spat.

That hit Arthur. Hard. That split second of hurt quickly turned into anger. Then complete and utter fury. He didn't care if he raised his voice to his friend anymore, red smeared his vision as he fought the urge to punch the albino right in the face. "_Listen to me, and listen to me now. I will not be told what I can and can't do by a_ **_fool_**_ and a **slave**. You will both learn to respect me, **your King**!"_

Gilbert let out a breathless laugh, "Elizaveta was right. Respect or _fear?_ You don't want us to think of you as a brilliant ruler who is fair to everyone, makes sure every one is happy, and so on. You want us to _kneel_ before you, _worship_ the ground you step on, _kiss_ your feet because that's only what we're worthy of, isn't it? I give up. Fuck you."

Arthur watched speechlessly as his last actual friend left the room. In that small second, he finally felt what it was like to feel truly alone.

Arthur sighed and flopped back onto his bed. Why was his bed so odd and lumpy all of a sudden? He pulled himself back up and looked behind him._  
_

He face-palmed at how he'd forgotten that there was a _bloody person_ that he didn't know still passed out front-down on his bed. He sighed once again and draped the blanket that had been tossed on the floor over the man -what was his name, Franz... François? No... Francis? Eh, that'll do._  
_

Arthur stared at him, actually seeing him for the first time. He assessed Francis' features, a rather large nose, a mouth that seemed to be smirking a bit even in his sleep, and -was that a beard? _No, that terrible excuse for facial hair isn't big enough to qualify as a beard,_ thought Arthur. He couldn't help but notice how Francis' blonde locks shone a faint golden colour splayed out like that in the candle-light. Arthur wished he had hair like that. He'd tried to grow out his hair when he was little with terrible results. Francis' perfect hair complimented his creamy, blemish-free skin. - Didn't they say he was homeless? He did not look homeless-

"Like what you see?"

Arthur jumped back guilty as Francis spoke up for the first time, finally opening his eyes. The brilliant blue globes held a hint of amusement at Arthur's embarrassment.

"H-how long have you been awake!?" Arthur demanded.

"Long enough to have heard the fighting. No one could ever sleep through that, not under any circumstance." Francis replied, pushing himself up from the awkward position he was lying in to sit up on the bed. He picked up the ends of the blanket that rested on his legs and began folding it. "And you gave me a blanket! So considerate."

"Don't get used to it." Arthur grumbled.

"Hm?" Francis looked up questioningly from the newly folded blanket.

"I said don't get used to it. As long as you're under _my _roof you'll follow _my _rules. You will get things for yourself in future, understand?"

"In future?" Francis asked, confused. Things clicked inside of his head, was he meant to be staying? "Who said I'd be staying here?"

"Well you can't go back to wandering the streets, idiot." Arthur stated, "Not while you're injured."

"Injured? Non, my wounds are not fatal, I can get over them. And as for you... No offense, but you're like a barrel of gunpowder near an open flame. You could explode any time, but no one knows."

"Don't act like I'm doing this for you," Arthur crossed his arms and tried to look official, "I'm doing this for my people. This isn't your choice. I won't help a thief to another chance to steal. How do I know that you won't do it again as soon as you go back?"

"Well, there is that small chance I'll get caught again," Francis said, thinking hard, "Will I get food here?"

"We won't starve you, if that's what you mean." Arthur answered simply.

_Why not?_ Francis thought, _Free food, free shelter, free _-hold on!

"Am I allowed access to the wine?" This was the question that settled it all. Francis was staying.

* * *

_"He called me a slave!?"_ Elizaveta had demanded that Gilbert tell her everything that had happened after she'd left. He'd spilled the beans immediately, and to put it simply, Elizaveta was furious.

"He called me a fool, too!" Gilbert exclaimed.

Elizaveta dismissed him with a flick of her hand, "Everyone calls you a fool. But _me._ A _slave._ Boy does he have nerve."

"He's done this before though, and you know it. Just, let him cool down. Maybe this wasn't the best time to bring it up." Gilbert suggested.

"Then when is the best time, Gilbert? When you find yourself about to be beheaded, or hung, you will regret not being there to change the rules." Elizaveta fumed, "You know what? Gilbert, c'mere. Come closer."

Gilbert stepped cautiously towards her as she beckoned him to come closer. When he finally made it into grabbing range she charged forward and took hold of his shoulders and shook him violently.

"Are you blind? Are you _deaf_? Can you even hear yourself? You're trying to tell me to let our stubborn, hot-headed King calm down. _He won't calm down."_

Gilbert plucked Elizaveta's hands from his shoulders, "Can _you_ hear yourself? You're acting like he's a ferocious beast. He will calm down eventually. Trust me, I've been his friend ever since I can remember being here. All will be fine within a few days."

Elizaveta shook her head, but said, "You'd better be right. And I expect an apology from the bastard."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**EXTREMELY SORRY ABOUT THE SHORT CHAPTER TODAY BUT I'LL MAKE THE NEXT ONE LONGER THAN USUAL SO ALL IS GOOD.**

**I don't really have a good excuse for this being a short and crappy in general chapter other than a weird case of writer's block. It's like, I know what I want to happen, but I end up not writing it, because I don't know where it should come in. I know the beginning and end to this story but there are millions of gaps in the middle. **

**Okay, yeah, sorry again for the short chapter, but take care ;)**


	5. Chapter 4

"So they're refusing?"

Francis drowsily raised his head from where he was sprawling on the wooden floor to the slightly angered voice of the monarch. Arthur stood talking to someone waiting outside the door, hair tousled lazily and arms crossed.

Francis heard a shuffling of papers and a quiet and nervous voice spoke up, "Apparently so. They, uh, said," he paused, and cleared his throat. More paper rustling was heard. "They said that 'people must understand the holy words of the Bible in their native tongue,' therefore they intend to hold their Church services in English. They've been arrested and are being held behind bars until your blessing has been bestowed to take action."

Francis had to lean painfully to the side to see the actions of the King who was partially covered by the open door. Arthur tsked and shook his head, "It's a shame Protestants insist on disrespecting the beliefs of my country. The Bible _will _be read in Latin, and if they want to understand the written words, they should simply learn the language. Send out orders to burn all English copies found of the Bible while patrolling their Church. Hell, burn all Protestants found, too, while you're at it. I've given them more than enough time to make their decision; become Catholic or burn. Is it not simple?"

Francis sighed. It seemed religious matters here weren't that different to back in France.

Arthur snatched what looked like some sort of document from the man outside of the room, and his hand disappeared from view as he reached out for something. A quill appeared in his hand as it was pulled back. He assessed the document before signing and handing it and the quill back.

"There. Send out the execution orders immediately."

"Yes, your highness," the voice grudgingly obliged. The sound of footsteps leaving was heard, but was quickly halted by a sudden "Wait".

"Yes, your highness?" the voice asked anxiously.

"On second thought, I wish to tell these resistors how displeased I am for this... disrespect. -This rebellion." Arthur's mouth twisted into a feral grin, "Take me to them."

"Yes, your highness."

Slowly retreating footsteps could be heard again along with the fading voice of the monarch, "Is that all you can say? 'Yes, your highness'? You can call me other things too. Like 'my liege', 'my lord', 'King Kirkland', -oh I'd like that one..."

Francis cautiously stood, stretching his back, legs, and arms until they made a satisfying 'pop' sound. It was only when he stepped out of the room did he realize he had no idea where anything was in the castle -or where he wanted to go.

He frowned, wondering which way he should go. He could've sworn the two went to what was now his left a minute ago... But that was probably the exit. He had heard something before about throne rooms in castles being near the entrance in some cases. Maybe they went the way to the throne room, then.

Francis' eyes adjusted to the dimly lit corridor as he carefully made his way to the small staircase almost hidden in the dark. He grinned manically and sped down the stairs as he heard a familiar obnoxious laugh; Gilbert.

As he descended into the light at the bottom of the rather short staircase he found the albino laughing uncontrollably at a dark-haired man on his knees in front of a violin. The neck of the violin had been snapped in two and the clinging strings were the only things that kept it all from falling apart. The kneeling man was glaring up at Gilbert, insisting that he'd stepped on it, while the albino denied the accusation -but didn't stop laughing.

Elizaveta stood watching the two, arms crossed. She was well aware that she couldn't take sides as she hadn't seen the ordeal happen, so she decided she would just watch them argue it out.

As Francis cleared his throat, their heads shot up quickly, expecting to be scolded like little children by their King. They all visibly relaxed at seeing Francis instead, but the kneeling man's expression still held a hint of confusion. Elizaveta rushed over excitedly, beaming, "He let you stay! I knew he would. What did I tell you? No matter how much of an idiot he can be, he most definitely has a soft spot for people in need."

Francis chuckled and answered, "He worded it like I was being arrested, and here; my jail."

"Yeah, he tends to do that." Gilbert smirked from where he'd been arguing with- who was that?

"Who's that?" Francis asked curiously.

"I don't think I've seen you around here before either." Roderich added.

"Weeeeeell," Gilbert started, pointing at Francis, "this is Francis, the guy we told you about, and this ass is-"

Elizaveta had hurried over to Gilbert and clamped her hand over his mouth.

"Be nice." Elizaveta scolded Gilbert, and as she removed her hand, he pouted and stayed silent.

"This," she pointed to the dark-haired man, "Is Roderich. He's the royal bard from Austria-Burgundy, and he can play the lute, the fiddle, and the violin."

"I thought the fiddle and the violin were the same." Francis stated, his brows furrowing.

The Austrian's eyes lit up as the words exited Francis' mouth.

"Well, it's easy to think that, and in a way it's correct," Roderich answered, pushing his glasses back up onto his nose, "It differs from person to person. They are more or less the same thing, but I tune my violins a certain way, and I tune my fiddles a certain way. I use my violins for a more elegant, classical sound, and I use my fiddles for a more... shall we say... folk sound, that you want to dance to. But really, yes, they are the same instrument."

"Huh," Francis smiled, "that's rather interesting."

Roderich returned his smile, "I'm glad you think so, unlike some people." Roderich glared daggers at the albino who was snoring loudly, pretending that he'd fallen asleep during Roderich's explanation.

Elizaveta tried to grab Francis' attention by tapping on his shoulder, frowning. He made a small hum of acknowledgement, without turning his head from the Austrian and the albino who'd somehow managed to get into an argument about the definition of the word 'awesome'.

Elizaveta pulled on Francis' sleeve in another attempt to grab his attention. He finally looked over his shoulder to find the brunette assessing his clothes. "You're still wearing the same thing as yesterday."

"What's wrong with that?" Francis asked curiously.

"The back of the shirt has blood staining it from where we tried to clean you with it."

Francis frowned, and pulled on the fabric slightly to get a good look at it. Red. Damn.

Elizaveta tapped her chin lightly with a few fingers, thinking. After a few seconds she suggested, "If Arthur's awake, maybe you could ask him what you can wear."

"He left not long ago, I thought he went down this way, too." Francis said.

Elizaveta frowned again, "We've been here for a while, and I would've seen him go past here if he had. Did he say where he was going?"

Francis recalled what he'd heard, "He and this man- who I couldn't see because he was outside the door- they were talking, something about burning Protestants. Arthur wanted to come with the man too, and they went right away."

"Again?" Gilbert groaned from where he was arguing with the bard, "Gah, I hate getting sloshed this early in the morning. It's only just getting light."

Roderich groaned too, looking annoyed.

Elizaveta explained to a confused looking Francis that they punished Arthur for the whole day if he executed people unreasonably. They refused to provide their services by getting as drunk as they could using Arthur's money.

"Is this really going to affect him?" Francis asked, "I mean, he's filthy rich."

Elizaveta trapped her bottom lip between her teeth and bit down on it lightly, thinking. "We're denying our services, too. That should show him something." Elizaveta offered.

"Yes, but Gilbert and I are just entertainment," Roderich sighed.

"Mm, and Elizaveta's not the _best_ maid ever, either," Gilbert smirked, eliciting a defensive "Hey!" from Elizaveta, "There's been a broken instrument on the floor for a while now, and you haven't actually made any move to clean up the mess."

Elizaveta's mouth twisted in thought for a moment, before she nodded in agreement.

After a small awkward silence, Roderich made a suggestion, "We can drink away our sorrows."

They all grunted in agreement, and so they quickly made their way up the stairs to snatch some gold from Arthur's backup supply, and for Francis to make a quick clothes change (Roderich's spares, of course).

* * *

The carriage door opened and Arthur stepped out onto the damp grass, the mud squelching beneath his feet. A tough-looking man who he assumed was a guard to the jailhouse beckoned to him, and Arthur followed obediently with Matthew trailing anxiously behind.

As they entered the jail house he was greeted with the almost unbearable stench of sweat and urine. Matthew quickly handed Arthur his handkerchief, and he accepted it and thanked him gratefully. He held the slightly scented rag to his nose, blocking out the smell as much as he could. They came up to a painfully claustrophobic cell. - It wasn't a small cell, not at all, the amount of people - 50? - crammed into the space was what made it claustrophobic.

Many raised their heads to glare daggers at the new presence, some muttering profanities, some surprised at the new people in general. The monarch stepped closer to the rusted bars, raising his chin slightly when someone on the other side mirrored his actions. The man on the other side looked rather young, in his early twenties, maybe. He looked roughed-up like he'd been in a fight; maybe he _had_ been in some sort of fight while resisting arrest.

No one said a word for a moment, until the man spoke, grasping one of the bars in a filthy work-rough hand, "Usurper."

"I beg your pardon?" Arthur asked sharply.

"Yer an usurper, aren't ya? Yer not fit ta run anyfin', let alone a country." He spat at the monarch's feet, cackling when the brown saliva splashed onto Arthur's shoes.

Arthur took a deep breath to compose himself; maybe discipline wasn't the way with these people, maybe this was one of the rare times he could mess with them. His frown twisted into a slight grin, the sides of his mouth tugging upwards ever so slightly at the corners. He turned away from the burning stares of the resistors. He chuckled, "What if I came to let you go?"

He turned his head back just enough to see a little speck of hope lighting up in some eyes, but a small, frail woman spoke up, knowing something was wrong, "Past tense."

"Hm?" Arthur swung his body back around to face the cell.

"You used the past tense. You said you came here to let us go. You didn't say you've come here to let us go."

Arthur's grin stretched wider at these words, "My, my. Such a clever young mind. Does that mean that there _are_ enough funds going towards education in this Kingdom? Huh, it seems I'll have to speak those who say otherwise." He tapped his chin, humming lightly, before regaining focus on the woman, "Back to the matters on hand. Yes, love, I came here to let you go, but your actions can change my mind ever so easily. You are correct. You will not be burned, if you pledge allegiance to me and to the Catholic ways. Same for everyone else." His smile faded into a grimace, and pointed at the man who'd spat on his shoes, "Apart from you, I don't like you."

"Now," Arthur raised his voice yet again, "Who will live, then?"

Silence filled the room, unsure stares meeting each other as they pondered on what to do. The frail woman from before shook her head as Arthur's amused gaze landed on her.

He shook his head in slight disappointment, "Aw, 'tis a shame, 'tis a shame. Anyone?"

He was greeted with more head shakes and he turned to his royal adviser, shaking his head also in mock disappointment this time, "You can take the Protestants from their religion, but you can't take the religion from the Protestants."

He turned back once more to the resistors, awaiting fear-filled expressions with anticipation, "Burn them."

Oh, he was not disappointed. Eyes bulged, almost popping out of their heads, panicked gasps escaped clenched teeth and pursed lips. He would pay all he had for a portrait of this moment.

"You're a beast."

He glanced over at the frail, fragile girl again as she choked out her words through tears. To be honest, he felt slight sympathy for her. Not because she was about to die, no, but because she was in a cell filled to the brim with rioting villagers. She was the only one not lashing out, verbally or physically; she was only telling the truth, and he knew it.

"Matthew," he beckoned his royal adviser back over, "Behead that woman, she lives with more honour than these peasants therefore she will die with more honour."

Matthew nodded, and started walking away to deliver the orders before Arthur grabbed him by the collar once again.

Matthew followed Arthur's gaze to a rough-looking filthy man who looked like he was yelling at Arthur, but the words were lost in the sea of other voices. "Have him whipped then branded several times while he watches the others burn in front of him. Burn him last, and when he's about to die, extinguish the flames, then burn him again. I hope you'll see these orders through as this will be my only form of entertainment today, sadly."

"Yes, your highn- uh, yes, King Kirkland."

Arthur grinned once again, "That name could really grow on me."

* * *

The drunken crew of four stumbled out of the tavern no less than two hours after they'd arrived. They joyfully sang rude songs, clinging onto each other for support when they felt they would fall.

An idea sprung into Gilbert's head as they all swayed uneasily, occasionally crashing into each other; he was drunk, therefore he couldn't possibly have control of his hands... He grinned mischievously as he tip-toed behind Francis. Hah, he wouldn't see it coming; he'd feel so awkward! He giggled quietly as he raised his hand and brought it back down suddenly on the blonde's behind. Francis let out a quick breath of surprise and turned to find it was only Gilbert. Gilbert burst into immediate laughter as he saw the temporarily shocked expression on Francis' face, but his smile faded as his butt was groped lazily by the man. He stopped momentarily, seeing that the blonde had walked on smiling, seemingly unfazed by Gilbert's awesome butt slap.

Gilbert frowned and stalked out his next prey; the fine behind of Elizaveta. He nonchalantly walked beside her, definitely not looking suspicious at all. Turning his head to face the other way, he discreetly slipped his hand down onto her bottom and squeezed gently. She let out a startled squeak and batted his hand away with one hand while using the other to slap him. Gilbert smirked triumphantly as he turned his head back to see- crap! Roderich was guarding his backside with shaking hands while blushing profusely. Gilbert let out a quick, 'Sorry, that wasn't for you!' and craned his neck to see Elizaveta waggling her eyebrows suggestively behind Roderich.

"I- Uh - It wasn't for him, I swear!" Gilbert yelled defensively.

Elizaveta rolled her eyes, "Yeah, sure."

Gilbert sighed and added this event to his mental 'things Roderich has ruined for me' list. He bit his lip gently and decided that this time -_this time _he would manage to touch Elizaveta's butt. He finally would today and then he would die rather peacefully knowing that he - _the awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt_ had touched the girl's behind. He wasn't going to risk it. He strode right up to her, intending to just quickly touch it (atleast it was _something_) and... he fell._  
_

Fell onto a guard. And to make matters worse, guess what? His hand. Was on. The guy's. Crotch.

He immediately recoiled in embarrassment, releasing a flood of ''I'm so sorry''s. After they both stood up, the guard firmly grasped Gilbert's wrist and informed him that he reeked of alcohol.

Gilbert blinked, "Sorry, what?"

"I'm going to confirm how drunk you are by running a simple test. Come with me."

Gilbert gulped and let himself be dragged along by the tough-looking, -though heavily-armoured guard. He looked behind him to find the others following, giggling. He bit down on his thumb and flicked it out at them, but that only made them laugh harder.

They, Gilbert realized, were walking towards another tavern. They probably would've gone to this one had their intentions not been to spend as much of Arthur's money as they could; it was much cheaper in there. He was hustled inside and pushed down onto a chair for a few seconds while the guard exchanged a few words with the guy standing behind the counter. He nodded and Gilbert was then pushed from his chair into a small room hidden on the far left of the bigger room they'd entered.

The others stopped following when they realized that they were going somewhere where they would be noticed right off the bat, and ordered a round of drinks to keep themselves occupied.

Meanwhile in the small room Gilbert was shoved forward where there was nothing but a straight line of white paint ahead of him. Gilbert glanced back at the guard, asking silently what he was meant to be doing. The guard sighed, as if Gilbert knew what he should be doing, and grunted, "Walk the line."

Gilbert immediately got it. _Easy peasy_, he thought, right before he realized he couldn't walk in a straight line. His feet seemed to miss the line every time he tried to step on it. It was like there was some sort of strange force pushing his leg sideways whenever he tried to land his foot where it was meant to land.

He turned back, rather panicked as to what would happen, he'd never actually gotten in trouble like this before. What was he even in trouble for? Being publicly drunk? -Was that a crime!? Knowing Arthur's laws, probably. Gah, the guard wasn't even there anymore!

Gilbert peeked around the doorway to see that the guard was talking to the owner behind the bar again. The owner nodded and handed him a... barrel? It was in two halves connected by two latch-type metals on the sides and there were holes in the splintered wood; one on the top, and and two at the bottom. Where had he seen that before...? Oh.

The guard quickly snapped the barrel over his body, pushing his head up through the top hole, and squishing his legs in the two at the bottom, leaving his arms trapped in the damned thing. The guard beamed before leaving, "Now everyone will be alerted of your alcoholic state. Have a nice day."

Roderich, Elizaveta, and Francis waited in anticipation at the counter, awaiting Gilbert's return after the guard had left. They all burst into immediate laughter as they saw a drunk and blushing Gilbert with a barrel trapping most of his body, hobbling awkwardly out of the room. They ambushed him immediately; giggling while they pushed him down onto his side and rolled him out of the tavern.

Elizaveta's eyes lit up when they caught on something in the distance, "Guys, look!"

Roderich and Francis spotted a wide but empty path in the distance; it was a big clump of land that had semi-steep slopes on either side of it. Elizaveta grinned mischievously and kicked Gilbert the barrel over to the path. The other two followed her, giving her questioning looks.

"Right, I have a game," she smiled, "Roderich vs. Francis. Both of you, stand on the opposite sides of the path, so you're facing each other, and your backs are to the big dips in the ground." They followed her instructions. "We'll swap places every few rounds, just to be fair to me, too. Okay, here's the game, you have to try and kick Gilbert into the other person's ditch. Defend your own ditch otherwise it's a point against you."

They both nodded and smirked when Elizaveta positioned a cursing and protesting Gilbert between them.

"Go!"

And so for a while they kicked Gilbert back and forth, with Elizaveta alternating between teams until she decided that she wanted her own team against the both of them and miraculously won the most rounds out of all of them. Halfway through the game, they decided that Gilbert throwing up would be the signal for the end of the game. That end came way too quickly... all over Roderich's shoes.

So there they were, walking in no particular direction; a sick, drunken albino in a barrel being kicked by a worn-out maid smothered in mud who was walking alongside a disgusted bard holding his shoes that were coated in rapidly drying puke. And then there was Francis, he was rather enjoying himself, actually.

Not that Elizaveta wasn't enjoying herself, - she was, but she was not looking forward to scrubbing her clothes clean when she got back to the castle.

Where were they, anyway? - The town center!?

Ah, the tavern had been all the way on the other side of the rather small town so they had to pass through the town center. It occurred to Elizaveta's drunkenly slow mind that executions and punishments were held there, and she was pretty sure that there would be one being held at that moment. Now that it was mentioned, she could smell burning wood -Arthur burned resisting Protestants didn't he? No, he hung them, right? -No, if she remembered correctly, it was fire, to symbolize burning in hell or something. -But what was that she'd heard about hanging being one of the most demeaning executions? Nonsense, it was definitely-

Her inner argument was briefly interrupted by a gasped, "Mon dieu,"

Elizaveta turned her head to curiously ask what language Francis was speaking until she saw. The reflection of flickering orange flames danced fiercely in Francis' widened blue eyes, and his skin glowed weakly from the fiery light. Elizaveta turned quickly to see that they had climbed the hill that dipped down into the center of the town while she'd been arguing with herself.

Wait a second. They were on top of a hill. She tackled the screaming barrel that was rolling down the hill and quickly dragged it back up. She turned back to see that Roderich was ushering Francis away, telling him that they had to go another way, but Francis' eyes were locked on a certain blonde standing back a few meters from the fire, admiring the figures burning in the flames.

Francis' eyes narrowed, not actually knowing how someone could just _stand__ there_ and watch people die in pain like that. He started descending from the hill, his sight not inching the slightest bit away from the smirking blonde at the bottom of the hill.

Roderich held Elizaveta back from stopping him, "Maybe he will be able to change things."

Elizaveta gazed up into Roderich's hopeful eyes, shaking her head, "I don't think he will."

Roderich smirked, "Don't underestimate him; you'd be surprised at how much you can get to know someone after a few pints of ale."

"He was drinking wine."

"Sh, alcohol is alcohol. Well, he told me that he was actually from France," Roderich told her, "And you know what they say about French people."

"They smell?" she asked, frowning.

"No, they always say to be wary of the French because they are good at, ahem, 'convincing' you to do things." He winked.

Elizaveta giggled, shoving him, "You are disgusting. That sounds like something Gilbert would say."

They both glanced down at Gilbert, realizing how quiet he was, to find he'd passed out.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**As promised, here's your long(ish) chapter!**

**Okay, first of all that weird thing that Gilbert did; biting down on his thumb and flicking it at them was kind of like flipping someone the finger in the olden days. Apparently they do it in India and some other places too, so... yeah. **

**I'm sorry for making Arthur so cruel, don't kill me for it! I didn't actually mean to, it just happened!**

**By the way, thank for for following and favouriting, it really makes my day, and I appreciate it so much.**

**Take care, guys ;)**


	6. Chapter 5

Arthur smirked contentedly as the last Protestant -that horrid man- went up in flames for the last time. His smirk faltered slightly.

'He deserved it,' Arthur reassured himself as he felt a pang of guilt, 'he betrayed me and everything my country stands for.' Yet he couldn't help but feel slight... remorse at his actions. No matter how many times he kept telling himself that this was for the good of his country, he found it hard to believe. Surely killing his people was not for the good of his people.

He secretly knew that burning Protestants wasn't for his country. It was for him. It was for that adrenaline rush, that rush of **power** it gave to him as he heard their screams of final submission. The screams that were far too late as they were engulfed in the flickering red flames. It made him feel so strong, so powerful, yet those feelings were always blocked out slowly by the dreaded guilt. The dreaded remorse. He didn't want to be like this; the thirst he got to see people in pain used to be able to be quenched by just watching brawls and fights. Every now and again he would join them, of course making sure he would be able to win them first. Even before that, it was just the itch for an adrenaline rush that could be easily scratched when gambling with cards. Now it was an almost insatiable hunger that never left him alone. He would always jump at the chance to belittle someone; in any way, whoever it was (accidentally doing so to family and friends), then feeling that cold, hard regret. He'd never gotten that much power growing up, and this was his way of making up for it.

He was ripped from his thoughts as someone roughly grabbed his shoulders and swung him around. He came face-to-face with a furious-looking Francis.

Arthur's eyes narrowed as he yanked the fabric of his cloak from the tight grip of the blonde, "And what exactly do you think you're doing?"

Francis gestured to the now dying fire, "I was going to ask you the same thing."

Arthur opened his mouth, then shut it again. He didn't have a proper answer, really, he'd have to settle with an "I asked first."

Francis answered simply, "I came here to ask you what you were doing."

"That's hardly an answer."

"At least I gave one," Francis replied, the tone of his voice getting harsher, "Now explain why you are so heartless as to put innocent people to their painful deaths."

"They're not innocent of what I burned them for, if that's what you mean," Arthur let out the poor excuse, "I'm not heartless."

"You're killing them for what they believe in; they can't control what they believe in."

"I gave them a choice," he replied, his jaw clenching. He dropped his sight to the floor like a boy being scolded by his parent, because that's what he felt like. He kept being told the same thing, just in different ways. No one realized how much he considered changing the rules - the laws, but he kept being weighed down by the bad things that could happen.

Francis frowned; he'd heard Arthur get into this same argument last night with Gilbert and Elizaveta and he'd been defensive enough. Now, he seemed to have to think a lot more about his answers.

Arthur raised his head and stated coldly, "Disobedience is the first sign of rebellion."

Francis cocked his head. Okay, now Arthur was somehow back to being the person that he was yesterday.

"And you are afraid of rebellion?" Francis asked.

Arthur's expression hardened, "I'm not afraid of anything."

Francis chuckled at that, "I find that hard to believe. Everyone's afraid of something."

Arthur scowled at him, "Don't laugh, I'm being serious. I don't get scared."

Miraculously forgetting about the entire reason he'd come down to confront Arthur, Francis smiled slightly, "So if I brought out a knife on you now, you wouldn't be scared?"

Arthur smirked, "Hardly, my personal guards would tackle you within a few seconds."

Francis glanced over to his guards who were laughing and joking in the distance, paying no attention to Arthur whatsoever, "When I grabbed you a few minutes ago, they didn't notice."

"That's because I didn't call for them," Arthur replied defensively, "I only get the best."

Francis rolled his eyes, obviously not believing a word the Englishman said. Arthur frowned, "I'm not lying." he turned to yell at his guards, "You are needed here immediately!"

A loud "What?" was returned by the only one that actually noticed Arthur shouting for them. Arthur sighed as he saw Francis giggling and yelled back, "Forget it!" Another shouted back, who'd obviously misheard him, "It's not in our duties to get you anything, just to defend you when you're in trouble!" Arthur let out an irritated sigh and repeated himself, "I said forget it, you lazy sods!"

They all shrugged and dismissed him as Arthur turned back to the amused blonde. "Okay, okay. Maybe they're not the best, but they're fired as soon as I speak to Matthew."

"Then you must have a lot to be afraid of without protection." Francis teased.

"No, without protection I'll be more worried, not scared." Arthur shot back.

"Worried, scared, same thing."

"No, they're not the _same thing_." Arthur sent him a glare.

"Fine," Francis said, "name things you might be worried about, but not scared about."

"Well," Arthur huffed, "like I said, I'm not scared of rebellion, but it's something to worry about."

Francis made a loud 'pfft' sound between his lips and teeth, showing what he thought of that. "Lies, Arthur. And I know what would make you afraid, regardless of what fear you feel for anything else," he smirked, "If I told you that at any chosen time I would attempt to grope your behind - especially when you wouldn't be expecting it. Then you'd be scared."

Arthur frowned, "You've made me worried, but I still feel no fear. And I hope you know the way back to the castle because I don't trust you to be in the same carriage as me."

"You sit on your backside in a carriage, Arthur. I can't touch it then."

Arthur frowned at him for a few more seconds before awkwardly walking backwards, turning his head every now and again. "Until then," he told a chuckling Francis. A confused and concerned looking Matthew stopped him by placing a hand gently on Arthur's shoulder, making him stop and step behind him.

"Matthew, protect my bottom from this man."

If anything, his royal adviser looked even more concerned with the King who was still shielding his behind from the chuckling blonde.

"It's been a long morning, your highness, it must be getting to you. You should go back and relax." Matthew ushered Arthur away from the smouldering ash of the bonfire, throwing a questioning glance at Francis over his shoulder.

"Is he coming with us?"

"No." Arthur answered, but upon gaining a pout from the blonde he sighed. "Yes, but he's not sitting next to me when he travel."

"Fair enough," Francis smiled.

* * *

Gilbert let out an annoyed 'ow' as he, inside his barrel, was kicked into the stone wall again.

"If you actually want to help me get out of this damn thing, kick me harder!" Gilbert demanded.

"I don't want you to get too hurt, Gilbert," Elizaveta fretted.

"A few little kicks aren't going to hurt me, y'know," his gaze fell on the bard leaning against the wall, "Roderich! Let out your hate for the awesome me by kicking me against the wall!"

Roderich straightened up, shaking his head in disbelief, "This has been an odd day."

Elizaveta and Gilbert grunted in agreement. Roderich rolled Gilbert the barrel back about a meter from the stone wall and took a running start before he kicked him back into the wall as hard as he could.

As the barrel made contact with the hard stone, a loud crash was heard. Elizaveta moved her hands from her eyes hesitantly to find Gilbert on his back surrounded by broken pieces of the barrel.

"M'good," he mumbled as Elizaveta pulled him to his feet.

"No, you're not, you idiot." Elizaveta muttered as she brushed away all visible chunks of wood that clung to his shirt. She turned to Roderich, "Great kick, by the way."

He lazily saluted her and went back to leaning against the wall.

* * *

Arthur shrieked as the lingering hand of Francis finally found his behind. It'd been quite a few hours of constant worrying when it was going to happen, and, of course, it had to happen when he _wasn't_ expecting it. That was the plan all along, wasn't it?

He twisted around and backed up into the wall, glaring at the amused blonde.

"Did I scare you?" Francis chuckled.

"No," Arthur huffed, "you just surprised me."

"Of course," he teased, "_surprised_ you." He paused for a moment, before adding, "I won't do it again, Arthur."

Arthur visibly relaxed and stepped away from the wall until Francis added a quick "unless you want me to."

"Why would I want you to!?" he exclaimed.

Francis just shrugged as if what he was about to say was normal, "Some people have their turn-ons."

Arthur sputtered for a few seconds, not exactly sure what to say before he finally answered, "I don't know where you're from, but that's not how things happen here."

"Well I wouldn't have thought, but just in case-"

"This again, Arthur!"

Arthur turned to the sound of his brother's irritated voice.

"How many more innocent lives, Arthur? How cold-blooded can you get?" Alfred exclaimed, slamming the heavy door of the throne room behind him.

"We have already spoken of this ordeal." Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, willing him to just leave already.

Alfred's clear blue eyes narrowed, "You act like this is nothing, these are people's lives. It's not so simple as to just _change religion_, they believe in what they believe in and it can't -and shouldn't- be influenced by anyone else!"

"It's happened, it's done, it's over." Arthur sighed as a headache welcomed him with open arms.

"And I'm here to make sure it doesn't happen again." Alfred took another step closer towards Arthur, showing how tall he really was. He noticed anther presence in the room, "Who's the blonde guy?"

"His name is Francis, I'm not sure why he's here but he is," Arthur replied, looking bored, "Any more questions?"

"Yes, actually," Arthur sighed as his brother carried on, "I want to know if you were aware that people aren't happy with your new engagement."

Arthur's eyes widened, "Who told you this?"

"Mattie did." Alfred answered, looking proud of himself.

"His name is Matthew, Alfred," Arthur groaned.

"He's my friend, I can call him what I like, thank you very much," he scowled.

Arthur sighed again, "Whatever floats your boat. Where can I find him, and why did you get the information first?"

"Well, he's right outside that door," he pointed to the door he'd entered in on his left, "and I asked him what he was doing when I was going to come in here to yell at you and he said, oh, I have to tell Arthur people don't like who he's getting married to, and I was like, well, maybe I can go tell him-"

"Okay, that's all I need to know," Arthur swept a hand through his tangled locks before opening the door to a nervous looking Matthew who apologized on sight.

"I need details, Matthew, and I need them now."

* * *

**Author's Note:  
**

**Yeah, sorry about another short and kinda crappy chapter but I have this thing where I feel like I NEED to update on every Sunday, lest something bad happen to me.**

**So I have a TON of homework due tomorrow, and I had to go to a Christening today that somehow ended in a party in a pub... weird, I know.**

**I don't have time to edit this properly and check for mistakes but I promise I'll do it tomorrow! -done!**

**Thank you yet again for the follows and favourites, they make me so happy.**

**And on that note, I hope you all stay happy and take care. ;)**


	7. Chapter 6

"There are small but significant forces rumoured to be forming here," Matthew pointed to somewhere around the Northern border of the country on the large strategical map of England laid out on the table, "here," another point, "and the most worrying one in Kent."

"Kent's one of the worst places for rebellion considering how near it is to London." Arthur bit his lip lightly, assessing the map.

"It's not rebellion yet," Matthew reassured him, "Not while we're only chasing rumours."

"And that's a good thing because..." Arthur dragged out the last word for more syllables than necessary to get his point across.

"Because they're only rumours?" Matthew suggested.

"Yes, maybe that's a good thing, since it could not actually be happening, but it's also a bad thing. It means that we can't go around making big assumptions because 'they're only rumours', as you say." Arthur frowned at the map, seeing no obvious patterns in the suspected towns. "So tell me, what aspects of the marriage arrangements worry my people so?"

"They don't seem to like the fact that Princess Juana could bring even more Catholic influence to the country." Matthew replied.

"That's rather odd," Arthur raised his eyebrows to what his royal adviser had stated, "since this country is mainly Catholic."

"Many may not be as obedient as you'd think them to be, your highness."

"Apparently not," Arthur frowned again, "I'll have to send out spies to these places of suspected rebellion."

"Spies?" Matthew's eyes suddenly widened in realization, "You don't mean...?"

Arthur sighed heavily, but nodded. "Yes, I do mean."

"My goodness," Matthew entangled a hand in his hair, groaning, "And don't think I didn't notice your saying 'spies' and not 'spy'. Who are you sending with him?"

"Matthew, I think you know exactly who I want to go with him," Arthur looked back down at the map, tracing the outline of the country with his finger, "Call for them."

The royal adviser nodded and left through the door that led back to the library muttering a quick, "Yes, your highness." As he closed door quietly he let out a big 'phew'. Somehow he'd expected to get into more trouble than he actually did for telling Alfred the news at all, never mind before Arthur. Matthew brushed a few stray strands of hair back from his face and turned to see Alfred and Francis smirking at him, both sitting in comfortable-looking armchairs.

"Was he really that intense?" Alfred questioned, eyebrows arched.

"He's always intense." Francis answered Alfred before the actual answer could be spoken.

"No, he wasn't intense," Matthew interrupted, "I just have quite a few things to prepare for."

"Artie's really getting 'ya worked up again, isn't he? He's always stressing you out, Mattie, just take a break, I highly doubt that he'll notice." Alfred frowned at the blonde who was already gathering up things onto his desk.

"He most definitely will notice," Matthew glanced back at Alfred, "and he hates it when you call anyone, let alone him, nicknames. When you call him 'Artie' it drives him up the wall."

"You can't talk when you call him 'your highness' all the time. You _must_ have realized by now that you're calling him not a King's, but a Prince's title. That would annoy anyone." Alfred scowled defensively.

"Mine's a bad habit from when I was Peter's royal adviser for his last few years, it was the correct term for Arthur back then and I keep forgetting to call him the right name. You just call him 'Artie' to mess with him."

Alfred grinned, "Yeah, I do."

* * *

Vash brought his sword down to clang loudly against his opponent's for what felt like the millionth time, blocking his blatant attack. The opponent's defense was excellent, though his offense was that of a child's lashing out. Vash blocked attacks easily, waiting for the right opportunity to strike. As the man swung his sword, attempting to get a good slice at Vash's side, it was knocked from his hand and the cold metal of the other's blade was buried into his side. It was pulled out as his legs were kicked out from beneath him and he fell painfully to the ground weeded with nettles.

His eyes widened as the cold tip of the blade made light contact with his neck. Vash leaned over him, smirking triumphantly, "Are you going to lie to me now?" The man opened his mouth to finally spill the beans and Vash braced himself for the result-

"Vash!" He flinched at that dreaded voice and turned to meet it.

"What? Can't you see I'm busy-?" Vash was cut off by a piece of crumpled paper being thrust into his hands. He assessed the messy writing and large ink blots with raised eyebrows but read:

_First of all I would like to apologize for the sheer messiness of this letter, _(the end of the '_r_' extended to the other side of the page as if he'd been elbowed whilst writing) _I have two idiots harassing me as I work and _(the scrawl of different handwriting that read '_I love Alfred's big_' was scribbled out hastily) _Arthur is very strict about my paper usage. -It's very limited. I'll just consider this an informal letter and tell you that Arthur is_ (the different handwriting was back again behind the thick lines it had been crossed out with, Vash managed to read the words; '_a dick'_) _in desperate need of your services. He insists that you take your most trusted ally with you that starts with a V - strict orders. I am not allowed to mention your names; lest this letter falls into the wrong hands. We await your arrivals._

_Yours sincerely, _

_ Matthew Williams, Royal Adviser of King Arthur Kirkland. Monday, January 31st, 1558._

Vash grimaced at the lower right-hand corner of the page where a large stain of wine and ink met. He raised his head to meet the gleaming green eyes of his Polish friend -well, he always denied the title of 'friend'... ally was the term he preferred. "He probably just wants me to keep you in line, Feliks."

"Nah, I know he wants the weapons enthusiast," he pointed at Vash, "and the master of disguises." he pointed at himself.

"The fact that you can pass easily as a girl does _not_ make you the master of disguises." Vash protested.

"Ah, speaking of facts... your prisoner has, like, escaped, a tiny little bit." he nodded towards the quickly departing form of the guy who Vash had been threatening a few moments ago. "What'd he do?"

"I make my little sister keep track of anyone who steps foot on our property and she said that a strange man fitting his description tried to lure her out of the garden this morning. He's a local guard, apparently, who was 'concerned' for her safety because she was left alone. I didn't believe him for one second."

"Huh," Feliks nodded, "Are you gonna go get him or...?"

"I can leave it. For now." Vash sighed, "I guess we have more urgent matters to deal with. It seems we're going back to England again."

"Are you leaving Elise here?"

"Not with the risk of that man going back to 'check' on her." Vash scowled.

"Ah, okay. So're we taking the shortcut through the big mess of countries and sailing from Austria-Burgundy or going the long way through France?"

"The shortcut seems risky, but so does France... Sometimes I wonder if living in Switzerland is really worth these crappy routes."

"France it is, then."

* * *

Arthur raised his head and frowned as Francis practically danced into his study.

"_Bonjour mon ami!_" he sang, wrapping his arms around a protesting Arthur sitting in a wooden chair, "Your brother taught me of this game called 'how to annoy Arthur' and I thought it sounded quite fun!"

"I'm busy, please leave me alone," he muttered, pushing Francis away, "and I'm not your friend."

Francis' face twisted into a pantomime of mock-shock, positioning a hand over his neck, "After all this time you could've told me you felt we should be more than friends! I would've happily complied, _mon cher_."

The blushing blonde glared at him, "Francis. No. Leave me alone. And I know what you're calling me!"

Francis' eyes brightened at these words and trapped him in another death grip of a hug. "Oh, you know the language of my people; the language of love!"_  
_

Arthur sighed and tore the Frenchman from him, "Well you've just confirmed my suspicions of you not being English. You have an odd accent that doesn't sound like one I've heard before; English but... not, at the same time. And don't even get me started on the way you act."

Francis' full accent was suddenly released and hit Arthur like a slap in the face, "I don't have to hide my accent now you know, non?"

The King frowned at the Frenchman but felt this odd... twinge of... he didn't know. -It felt like a mix of excitement, relief, and anticipation all battling in the pit of his stomach. It was like the accent suddenly... completed Francis. Like there had been something missing and then as soon as he spoke those words -perfectly normal words- it was just... there!

"Well if you would refrain from speaking like that in front of certain people, it would certainly help. There are many people here that disagree with people from other countries coming here."

Francis shrugged, "As long as I can speak like this in front of you."

"And why me?"

"Because it makes you look all flustered." Francis winked.

Arthur turned red, "Frog!"

Francis beamed, "Ah, you've already given me a pet name! How cute. _Au revoir, rosbif_!"

* * *

**Author's Note**

**Sorry about giving you such a terrible and short chapter! You should know the drill by now - better and longer chapter next week.**

**I have so much homework to get done so I'm going to edit this as fast as I can to get started on it. (That's right, I haven't even started! Gah!)**

**And I honestly can't wait to write the next chapter because it will include lots of our new 'spies' Vash and Feliks.**

**I was going to choose either Vash or Feliks to be the spy of the story and so I asked my friend (pointless-chinchilla) which one because I was in such a dilemma. She replied with the absolute genius answer of, "Both." -I wasn't too sure about it at first but I really warmed up at the fact that they had such conflicting personalities. -Oh look I've rambled on again.**

**Take care, my geniuses ;)**


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